Question They Never Ask
by Irymia
Summary: No one on Earth ever remembers Kenny dying. But what about the immortal residents of Hell and Heaven? Well...


During all his years of ruling Hell, Satan had seen a lot of humans. Like, a whole ton of 'em. They were all remarkably different; the only thing that they all had in common was that they hadn't gone to heaven, and the similarities ended there. There were nice people and jerks. There were children as well as those who had died old. There were weirdos who tried to do something good and then offed themselves in the pious hope that this time around, they would fly up to heaven. There were those who had started their own religious cults right here in hell. Funny little things they were, humans, and Satan never grew tired of having to reign them and interact with them every day despite having been doing in at least for a few millennia.

It was never boring in hell. Every decade or so there would be an exceptionally interesting fella, like Jeanne d'Arc or Hitler—those always shook up the place, freshened up the routine. Oh, and not to forget those who hit on Satan. He was flattered, really, though he preferred not to date Satanists, thank you_ very much_.

But in all his years of being the Lord of all that was evil, he had never seen anyone quite like Kenny McCormick.

The first time Satan experienced déjà vu when he saw the boy at the entrance gate, he wrote it off to fatigue. After all, so many people came to hell daily, how likely was it that some of them would be dead ringers for others? However, after it happened a few more times (he saw the boy enter hell through the gate but then sometime later, saw him among the newly arrived, again), he had started to think it weird and called one of his acolytes.

"It's Kenneth 'Kenny' McCormick, Satan. From South Park, Colorado, America."

"And why do I keep seeing him at the entrance gate all the time?"

The acolyte skimmed the scroll he was holding. "Well, right now, it's his 34th time here."

"What do you mean 'his 34th time'?" Satan frowned. "Did he somehow escape from here before?"

"Not quite, Satan. It's not that he tried to escape, it's just that every time he arrives, the next morning he wakes up back at home in his bed."

Satan's brows furrowed further. "Is this some kind of a joke?" he bellowed. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"No, no, I would never! It's all in the records, 34 times. His soul just returns to Earth every time."

"Why?" Satan demanded, feeling a headache coming up.

"I don't know, my Lord."

"What do you mean you don't know?!" he leaped out of his throne. "Are you telling me that this human has somehow made it out of here thirty-three times already and you never thought there was something strange about it and never took any measures?!"

The acolyte stepped back, cowering. "W-well, we do have a lot of new people arriving every day, it's hard to keep track—"

"Hard to keep track my ass, get out of here!"

The imp fled.

Satan sat back into his throne, sighing; Christ, some of his employees were really incompetent. He wondered about this Kenneth McCormick. There had previously been prophets who would return to Earth for a short period to do good deeds and guilt-trip their relatives, had been historical figures summoned by children on Halloween nights, but a small boy, and thirty-four times? This just didn't make any sense. Even if it somehow was God's plan, shouldn't the little boy have gone to heaven instead?

Satan still had some work to do today but the matter had piqued his curiosity. Besides, if what the imp had said was true and this child would return to Earth the next morning, Satan didn't have much time left until the boy would disappear again.

He found the small human hanging out with Edith Piaf, trying to emulate her singing and possibly also ogling her breasts while he was at it.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt, Ed," Satan began but the French singer just waved her hand dismissively in a friendly manner, "but, um, are you Kenneth McCormick?"

Surprised, the boy looked up at him and muffled in affirmation.

"Could I, er, have a quick word with you? I'm Satan, by the way, I kinda rule this place though I suspect you already know that."

The child blinked yet sent Edith an apologetic look before following Satan to the side. He didn't seem afraid of him like most children were but again, if what Satan had heard was true, the boy had probably gotten used to hell already.

"Well… it's just that it has been brought to my attention, Kenneth, that you have been here thirty-four times. And that every time when the morning comes on Earth, you somehow wake up back at home in your corporeal body. Is that true?"

"Mhm."

"Do you know _why_ it happens?"

The human boy stared at him for a few seconds, as if in confusion, then shrugged.

Now Satan had even more questions than before.

"You see, this has never happened to anyone here before," he tried to explain. "If you die, you die. You don't just… go back—as a ghost, maybe, in some cases, but not as yourself. And not thirty-four times."

"Really?" the child mumbled against his hood. Satan nodded.

"Yeah. Even the angels don't know anything about it… wait," he took a closer look at him.

This orange parka, the muffled voice… Blurry scenes started to resurface in Satan's memory. "Aren't you that human boy who helped me and I gave him one wish and he wished for everything to go back to normal? After someone had started a war with Canada or something?" He admitted it was hard to keep track of what was going on on Earth sometimes, there were just so many countries and people. Something like this wasn't really forgettable, though.

"Mhm. It was me."

Satan's brows crawled up. "Oh. Wow. You have a big heart, little human," he said, amused. "Shouldn't you have gone to heaven then?"

"I have been to heaven too. Many times. Sometimes I end up in other dimensions, worlds where everyone listens to Justin Bieber, or someplace where everything's white."

Satan scratched his nape. It was, indeed, one hell of a unique case here.

"But every time, you still wake up back on Earth?"

"Yes."

"But how can this be possible…" Satan mumbled, more to himself than the child. He hadn't been this perplexed in a long time. When he noticed the boy was blinking at him, he remembered he had actually interrupted a singing lesson/ogling session, and hurried to say:

"You, um, can go now. That was all I wanted to ask."

"Okay."

Watching the orange-clad back, Satan got lost in deep thought again. Just what could have been forcing the child to return to Earth so many times? What power?..

* * *

Helen had been constituted Supervisor Angel a month ago, and she enjoyed the job. There wasn't much to supervise, to begin with, since it was heaven and most residents at least tried to act nice, so often her patrols of the premises ended in conversations, especially when the newly arrived humans consisted chiefly of elderly people. Helen quite liked listening to their stories. She had always felt an affinity for humans' lives; they were so interesting, so unpredictable, so full of turning points.

Today, though, she noticed among the 'newbies', as the angels between themselves called them, a boy whom she could swear she had definitely already admitted into heaven around two weeks ago.

"Hey, did you get lost?" she approached him. "This area is for newbies, kid."

"But he just arrived here with us," said a Korean-looking man to his side. Helen looked at him, baffled.

"What?"

"Yeah, we have all just arrived together," a woman stepped out. "He's a newbie, too."

"But… but I've already seen him in a newbie group around two weeks ago…" she scratched her chin, deliberating. "You don't happen to have a dead twin, do you?"

The boy shook his head. "No. But I was here two weeks ago, too."

"What? Wait, did someone kill you here in heaven so you died again and arrived at the gate again?" she asked, horrified by the sudden explanation she'd come up with. Heaven wasn't supposed to foster murderers.

"No. I just returned to Earth. Then today, I died again."

The newbies around began to whisper among themselves. Utterly perplexed, Helen had to excuse herself to go and ask another angel for help; throughout the thirty-something days that she'd been on this duty, she hadn't encountered a situation like this one.

"Oh, yeah, Kenny McCormick," Michael said. "He's a frequenter."

"A frequenter?"

"He has died 137 times, out of them, he went to heaven 62 times, and the other times he ended up in hell, purgatory, or other shitty places."

Helen's eyes went wide.

"You're joking, right? How is this possible? Is he a prophet or something?"

"Nope. Just a regular human boy from America. Every time he dies, he wakes up back in his bed the next morning. His family and friends don't remember his deaths though," Michael explained like he was talking about the weather. He picked his nose in a bored gesture. Helen blinked at him.

"But… it's weird. I mean, I've never heard of any human like that before!"

"That's because there has never been anyone like this," the archangel replied curtly.

"Have you asked God about this?"

Michael looked at her askance. "You know perfectly well how God is always busy and not available."

Helen stood, not knowing what to say. She thought it was horrible no angel had even bothered to look into this matter before; she was about to give Michael a piece of her mind about it when he picked up on it and pipped her to the post:

"Listen, Helen, just do your job. The boy has been visiting us now and then for around five years already. Nobody knows why and frankly, nobody gives a shit."

Helen wanted to protest but looking at Michael, decided it was useless. She returned to the newbies' group with her mind in a whirl. Bending a little so as to be on the same eye level as the human boy—Kenny, was it?—she asked softly:

"Do you have any theory as to why you always return to earth, kid? Did someone jinx you?"

He shook his head and muffled something into his hood.

Oh, there was also this hood and the boy's outfit in general. Helen had noticed it was old, faded, and worn-out. Moreover, the whole parka looked like it had been cut out of a curtain or something—his family must have been poor. On Earth, as far as Helen knew, poor rarely meant good, for alcoholism, drug use, unemployment, and child abuse often went hand in hand with indigence. Must be not a very pleasant experience to return to such a home every time, especially after having been to heaven…

She felt sorry for the boy and angry at the rest of the angel staff for not giving any fucks at all despite having been seeing this child come and go for years now. She still had a job to do, though, so she led the human group to show them around, but kept an eye on the boy in the parka. Maybe later she could go ask Satan if he knew anything about this. Must be weird for him to see the guy just come and go like all the time, too.

Truly, being a human could be such a wild thing sometimes, she thought to herself.

* * *

Kenny counted the money and groaned. This wasn't enough, not even close to enough, and where could he get more by tomorrow? He considered stealing some from Eric but given how stingy that prick was, he would find out immediately and rip on him hard.

"Hey, Kenny, having financial problems again?" Speak of the devil. "I've warned you! I told you not to be so poor or it would end badly, but you didn't listen!"

"Cartman, will you shut the hell up?" Kyle frowned at him and then looked at Kenny. "Dude, what's the matter? What's this money for?"

"Karen's birthday is tomorrow. I wanted to buy her a real cake and some candles to blow out."

Stan looked at him with some expression of respect. "Oh, cool," he said. "I wish I had the same relationship with Shelly. She has never even given me anything for my birthday."

"That's because your sister's a bitch," Eric added helpfully. "And having siblings sucks anyway."

"It doesn't, you're just jealous, fatass! You... " Kyle turned back to Kenny. "You don't have enough money for a cake, right?"

Kenny nodded. The meager sum he had right now could at best buy him a muffin, but not a cake, and a muffin just wasn't the same; he wanted her to have a real cake on her birthday. Stan and Kyle exchanged looks—Kenny had always felt a modicum of jealousy of the rapport the two had and how they often understood each other without words; he himself was used to being left out or misunderstood—and then they synchronically whipped out their lunch money.

"Here, take it," Stan said simply.

Kenny vacillated for a little while. Generally, he preferred to earn money himself if he needed it, not freeload off of his friends; he might be broke but he still had some pride left. However, this was a special occasion and for a very special person in his heart. Maybe he would be able to pay them back later, do a temp job at City Wok or something.

"Thank you, guys," he said with sincerity, taking the bills.

"What the hell, you guys are now giving your money to Kenny? What the fuck?!"

"And you should have given some, too," Stan frowned at him. "Fuck, Cartman, it's his sister's birthday, don't be such a dick."

"Oh, so now we're giving money to those who have siblings?" Eric mocked. "Fine, I'll go ask my mom to give birth to one!"

"Well, I'm surprised you don't have a bunch of them already, given how much of a slut she is!"

"Don't call my mom a slut!"

The three went on bickering in their usual fashion, but it faded into the background for him because Kenny wasn't paying attention, instead focusing on counting how much he had now. It still wasn't too much but it should be enough for a small, cheap cake. He smiled to himself. He would ensure his sister had a good birthday no matter what.

The following day, as he dragged the packaged cake into the house, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his parents going at it again. His father's drunk rambling and his mother's shrill insults thrown the former's way had long become a usual backdrop for many activities in the McCormick household. _Even today, they're still fighting…_ Sighing, Kenny trudged upstairs.

He heard fitful sobs once he reached the end of the staircase, and his heart wrenched at the sound he hated the most in the whole world. Setting the box with the cake and candles aside, he quietly pushed the door to Karen's room open.

"Karen? What's wrong?"

She was curled up on her bed, looking even smaller than usual.

"M-mom and dad… yelling at each other again… I-I thought, it's my birthday so they won't fight b-but dad is drunk again…" sob. "Why do mom and dad always fight, Kenny?" Her tear-filled eyes looked up at him.

Kenny came up to the bed. When he sat down at its edge, Karen instantly crawled up to him, like a kitten, wrapping her arms around her brother and burying her face in his chest. It was damp and snotty but Kenny could not care less. He hugged her back without a moment of hesitation.

"Because they're adults," he said, fingers gingerly caressing her hair. "And adults are stupid."

Unexpectedly, Karen let out a small giggle. "But you too are gonna be an adult one day, Kenny," she reminded and lifted her face from his chest, tears not flowing anymore. He considered her words for a moment.

"I know. Well, fuck that. If I ever become like that, you can hit me and tell me 'Kenny, you're such a jerk and I hate you'."

Karen chuckled again. "I know you're joking. You'll never be like that, Kenny. And I will never hate you!"

_I really hope so,_ he thought. _I really do, Karen._

Karen pulled away a little to wipe her face with her sleeve in a puerile manner. When he was sure she had completely calmed down, he petted her back and got up, reluctantly extricating himself from the embrace.

"Kenny?" her big eyes looked up at him.

"I have something for you, wait a second."

Exiting the room, he quickly stuck the candles into the cake and lit them up. Well, this should do it. It was already getting late so when he carried the cake into the room, the candlelight threw feeble shadows at the scuzzy walls. The tiny flames reflected in Karen's eyes, too, and they were wide as she stared at the cake.

"This is for me?"

"Yes, for you, m'lady," Kenny said jokingly, placing the cake on the worm-eaten nightstand. "Happy birthday!"

Karen remained enchanted by the view for a few more seconds, her eyes sparkling in bewilderment. Then she turned to Kenny and threw herself at him. "A-ah, thank you, thank you! I love cakes, they're so yummy! This is the best gift!"

Kenny smiled. He felt warm, and it was not thanks to the candles.

"You have to blow out the candles and make a wish," he prompted. He watched as Karen complied, letting as much air into her hollow cheeks as her emaciated body allowed her to. Her eyes shone brighter than the stars in the sky.

Kenny remembered how they had shone the same light a few years ago, not too long after she was born. He remembered his childish wonder at the very concept of having a younger sister, and he had stared at her like it was something magical. Then Carol had let him hold her, and he had pressed her little body to his chest, looking into those big limpid eyes as they looked right back at him. It was his little sister, by some cruel twist of fate born into their dysfunctional family, and Kenny couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

He had known Kevin didn't really care. Heck, even their parents hadn't seemed to care much, either, judging by how they had started bickering right after the baby had been born. But as Kenny had held her in his arms, he had felt it. A torrid urge inside his chest.

He had to protect her. Protect from their parents, the possible bullies, the world.

He had held her tighter.

When a month later he had been crushed by a piano—his first death in what would soon become a chain of them—and gone to heaven, he hadn't felt happy in the slightest. In fact, he'd been angry. He couldn't have left his little sister alone, she had no one else in the whole world! _He had to go back!_ he had thought, hands balling into fists as a flame smoldered in his heart. He had to go back!

...The next morning, he had woken up in his bed, and no one had remembered that he had died the day before. When he had run to the other room, the small Karen had been asleep in her crib, safe and peaceful.

"...Done!" Karen exclaimed happily, snapping Kenny out of his reverie, as she had finally managed to extinguish all the candles. "Now let's eat the cake!"

They sat on the bed. In the candlelight-bathed room, the shadows were tricky, and Kenny secretly cut bigger slices for Karen and smaller ones for himself. Karen's face was all covered in cream afterward and she giggled and feigned disgust as he industriously wiped it clean. Then they talked a little; Karen told him something about a friend she had recently made but she was obviously already sleepy, yawning now and then, eyes half-lidded. Kenny said it was bedtime and tucked her in carefully.

"Happy birthday again, Karen," he said when he was about to leave the room.

"Thanks! Hey, Kenny, do you want to know what my wish was?"

"You're not supposed to tell anyone," he reminded, amused.

"But you're not 'anyone', you're my favorite brother!"

Kenny held back a laugh. "Okay then. What was it?"

"I wished…" Karen made a dramatic pause from where she lay swathed into the blanket, "I wished that my brother Kenny would never leave me, ever!"

Oh. Kenny took a deep breath. He lingered in the doorframe for a little longer. "That's a good wish," he said. "Goodnight, Karen."

"Goodnight, Kenny!"

He made it back to his room, took off his dirty parka and clambered into bed. Karen's words rang in his head; he let his eyelids drop, ready to drift off to sleep.

_Don't you worry, Karen. I'll always be there for you. Promise._


End file.
